The church hall smelled faintly of brewed coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon rolls from the kitchen down the hall. Folding chairs were arranged in a wide circle, their metal legs scratching softly against the linoleum floor as people shifted them closer together.
Naomi was the first to arrive. She slipped inside quietly, choosing a chair near the back corner of the circle. Her cardigan hung loosely over her shoulders, the fabric bunching in her lap as she sat. She kept her eyes on the floor, scrolling through her phone, pretending to be absorbed in something important.
Grace arrived a few minutes later, carrying a small travel mug. Her hair was freshly brushed, but her sweater still smelled faintly of laundry detergent. She spotted Naomi, smiled with a flicker of recognition, and sat down beside her.
"Hey," Naomi said softly.
"Hey," Grace replied, settling into her chair. There was comfort in sitting next to someone she knew, even if they hadn't spoken in months.
The door creaked open again. Isabel stepped in, her black blazer and ankle boots standing out against the room's casual sweaters and jeans. Her lipstick was a muted rose, her hair smooth and precise. She looked like she belonged in a magazine spread, yet the way she glanced around—briefly, cautiously—betrayed a certain hesitation. She chose a seat opposite Naomi and Grace, crossing her legs neatly and pulling her phone into her lap like a shield.
Ruth came in last, the tin of cookies balanced in her hands. "Evening," she said warmly, her voice carrying just enough to fill the space. She set the cookies on a nearby table, then eased herself into an empty chair. She noticed the younger women—one fidgeting with her sleeve, another with perfect posture, another with hair that caught the light when she moved—and wondered what had brought each of them here.
A woman with silver-streaked hair and bright, steady eyes stood at the center of the circle. "Welcome to Wonderfully Made," she said, her smile genuine but unforced. "My name's Miriam. For the next several weeks, we'll be talking about something many of us struggle with—what it means to truly see ourselves the way God sees us, and how to get out of the constant noise in our heads."
Naomi glanced at Grace, then quickly back to her lap. Isabel shifted in her seat, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. Ruth folded her hands and listened.
"This is a safe space," Miriam continued. "You don't have to share if you're not ready. But my prayer is that, as the weeks go by, we'll find the courage to speak honestly—and to believe the truth that's been written about us from the very beginning."
Around the circle, no one spoke just yet. But something—just the faintest hint of curiosity—began to stir in the quiet.